Two Prophecies
by ThatCaliforniaSunshine
Summary: In a battle between evil and innocence, many are hurt. More are lost. Few survive. We all know Harry Potter's famous prophecy. But Draco Malfoy has one too. While Draco begins to fulfill his prophecy, Harry struggles to understand his own.
1. The Set Up

Okay so here's the deal. I have this story in my head, right? And I have nothing to do with it. So I decide to write it here. Hope it's worth your time.  
Kay. Here's the next deal. This is a fan fiction, yes. But it's a follow up on book 6, so it's like a lame fan's lame attempt at a book 7. Mmmmmkay?  
Details:  
Main characters- Draco & Harry (seperately)  
Ships- Ha/G, Hr/R, initially. (Follows book 6, remember?)  
Genre- Mainly **angst**, some **romance** and a smidge of **humor** when I feel like attempting it.  
Rating- I try to keep it PG-13(T), but some themes and certain words hit R(M).

**Chapter 1**

..."The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the dark lord will mark him as equal. But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."...

But the prophecy was wrong. The biggest impact on Harry's life, the cause of his worry, the reason for the hours of trying to stay awake for fear of nightmares, was wrong. It was wrong. Just. Plain. Wrong. Harry had spent half his life worrying about some stupid premonition obviously misread by some stupid fortune teller than can't even see the papers on her desk, let alone the future. How could he have been so naive? Adults and old people had believed it too; that's why he did. But why did they believe it? Because some lady used a creepy voice when she said it? Well whatever, nothing mattered anymore, except for the fact that it was wrong.

Harry had not killed Voldemort. Voldemort had not killed Harry. Voldemort, however, is dead. Gone forever- dead. The most powerful wizard in the world, next to Dumbledore, had killed him. No huge final face off, no gigantic war to end the world. Just some serious guerilla warfare to catch the bad guys off guard and BAM! Voldemort's dead. It was rather anti-climactic, really. Don't misunderstand it, though; this was a big deal! But it's an even bigger deal because the prophecy didn't come true.

Some were convinced the prophecy was simply wrong. Others, convinced that Voldemort wasn't dead. Others were convinced that he is dead, but the prophecy had been misread, and was not meant for Harry and Voldemort. Each group of people had their opinions, but then you always have those milk-toast idiots who have no opinion because they can't think for themselves or simply don't care.

Harry himself thought the prophecy was just plain wrong. He was rather bitter about it too. His whole life had revolved around this prophecy. He'd been preparing for this final battle for forever; learning extra charms, and studying extra hard. It was probably for the best, but Harry was rather sour anyway.

One night while Harry was trying to fall asleep, he decided to pull apart this prophecy and see what's wrong with it. "The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches." Here lies problem #1: Which Dark Lord? Well that was obvious, but there must be more than one man of the Dark who calls himself a Lord. Next, problem #2. Approaches?? The time when Harry dies approaches, but that doesn't mean it's soon. This could happen 30 years from now! Two problems right there. Moving on.  
"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the dark lord will mark him as equal." Problem #3: There must've been more parents who have thrice defied the dark lord... define 'defy' anyway. Problem #4.There must be some other kid somewhere in the world born at the end of July. In fact, there must be hundreds- no, thousands of kids born at the end of July. Big whoop... and problem #5. Again, which Dark Lord?  
Right there- five problems with that stupid prophecy and it's not even finished being analyzed. But Harry decided to save it for another night. He soon drifted off into sleep and had the strangest dream...

It was completely black- all he heard were voices. But he felt wet and hot as if he were being boiled in a tea kettle.  
Harry heard a deep, raspy voice first.  
"It is almost complete. He who shall carry out the prophecy is about to be unleashed to wreak havoc throughout the world!"  
"Is there anything else I can do for you, My Lord?" But this was a voice Harry, unfortunately, recognized.  
"No, Lucius, you are done here..."  
A pause.  
"Oh, Lucius. I will tell you this. Should anything happen to me, it will be you who will teach him. Nothing will prevent him from carrying out this prophecy. Is that understood?"  
"Of course, my Lord. I am honored for the opportunity to take care of..."  
"You are not to take 'care' of him! You are simply to teach him the necessary skills he needs to fulfill this prophecy!"  
"I beg of your pardon, my Lord. I understand."  
"Leave."

Harry, back in the safety of his own mind wondered what prophecy they were talking about. But he barely had time for these thoughts as the channel in his mind changed instantly and he tuned into another dark abyss much like the last one. Again, he only heard voices.

"Narcissa, dear, this_ is_ our son." a masculine voice softly cooed.  
Had Harry been awake, he would have winced as he heard a blood-curdling scream. "NO!!! THIS IS NOT MY SON!!"  
"Narcissa, yes! Can you not see the resemblance between us?"  
"GET THAT MONSTER OUT OF MY HOUSE, LUCIUS, OR SO HELP ME..."  
"Narcissa! This is our son whether you are pleased or not!"  
"This monster was NOT born from me!! THIS IS A CREATION OF EVIL ITSELF!! CAN'T YOU SEE?" The voice called Narcissa broke down into wails and sobs.  
"THE IMAGE OF INNOCENCE! HE IS A MERE INFANT!"  
"A DEMON CHILD!"  
"YOU WILL WATCH OVER HIM!"  
"I WILL NOT TAKE-"  
"_IMPERIO!_ Narcissa, take this child as your son and love it for the rest of your life."

And though Harry did not know it, for he had woken up, that is exactly what she did.

If you have any questions or comments or anything, just review. This story's not really edited, it's kinda raw. So any constructive criticism is welcomed warmly. Kay thanks!


	2. The Letter

**Chapter 2- The Letter**

Mmmkay. Serious HBP(Book 6) Spoilers in this chapter. If you haven't read HBP, don't read mine.  
Kay. Well when we last left off, Harry was in a dream where he heard something very odd. Moving on.

It was the morning of Harry's departure for Hogwarts, and his relatives were absolutely ecstatic. They practically shoved him out the door. They knew that this was the coming of age year for wizards, and that they would never see Harry again. Dudley was even being kind to his girlfriend, who was looking increasingly like Aunt Petunia every day. When next to each other, Harry would actually get her and Dudley confused with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Dudley was big enough for it anyway.

"Well good-bye Harry," Uncle Vernon said, beaming, "For good, this time!" He rocked back and forth on his heels.  
"Thank Merlin..." Harry muttered under his breath.  
"Don't bother writing often!" Aunt Petunia added quietly, smiling smugly.  
"And don't let the train door hit your buttocks on the way in!" Dudley yelled, his girlfriend positively shrieking with laughter.  
Harry would miss making fun of Dudley.  
"Only if your huge arse doesn't get in the way." Harry called over his shoulder, while the mini Petunia tried to glare daggers at Harry. She failed, unfortunately for her, causing her to look as if she had just been smashed against a wall... over, and over, and over, and over again. Or maybe she always looked that way.

As Harry boarded the train, he heard a mother crying for her daughter to be careful and to stay safe. Looking over, he noticed this mother to be Mrs. Weasley crying to Ginny. He waved to Ginny as she blushed with embarrassment and waved over her shoulder to her mum discreetly meaning "Yeah okay bye. Will you leave now?". They found an empty compartment together and sat down, waiting for Hermione to get back from her Head Girl duties, and Ron to get back from Lavendar's compartment. Over 6th year, Ron had gotten with Lavendar, constantly shoving his feelings for Hermione out the window of his brain, though Harry knew they were there. Harry finally got Ron to admit it, though Ron absolutely refused to do anything about it until Hermione said she liked him. This proved a conflict for Harry- there is no way he could get Hermione to admit it, and until then, Ron and Hermione won't be speaking to each other. Harry relayed these thoughts to Ginny.

"Well you could've told me this sooner! If I can't help you find those Horcruxes, which I will find a way to help by the way, then I can at least get Hermione and Ron together so that you can have _their_ help. You just talk with Ron, and I'll take care of Hermione." Ginny said, and winked.  
"Thanks Ginny." Harry said quietly, thinking of the Horcruxes and the trouble they caused him.  
Hermione walked in the door.  
"Ginny! Harry! I missed you! How are you?" she squealed and ran over and gave Ginny and Harry a hug each.  
"I'm doing alright Hermione." Harry said.  
"Yeah, me too. How's Ron?" Ginny said slyly.  
Hermione looked confused.  
"He's your brother...you spent all summer with him...Or have you forgotten?" Hermione asked jokingly.  
"Oh... uh... I spent the summer with Luna, actually." Ginny lied smoothly.  
"Lovegood?" Hermione asked.  
"No, Luna Herbert." Ginny said sarcastically. "Who do you think?"  
"Oh, of course." Hermione said embarrassedly.  
There was an odd silence after that.

"Where is Ron anyway?" Hermione asked.  
As if on cue, Ron walked in, and he was looking particularly miserable, I might add.  
Of course, Hermione was first to take note of this and promptly asked what the matter was.  
"We broke up." was his only reply.

For the rest of the train ride, Hermione was as gleeful as Ron was glum.

"Sir!" said a high-pitched voice.  
"What is it Deely?" asked a slow, drawling voice.  
"You've received a letter from your mum!" came the reply.  
A boy with sleek blonde hair suddenly jumped up from his lazy position on his sofa.  
"My mum?" Draco enquired.  
"Oh, I can always burn it Master Malfoy Sir!" Deely, the house elf, squeaked. "If you do not wish to receive any more letters from her I-"  
"BRING IT TO ME THIS INSTANT!" Draco shouted.  
"Oh, of course Master Malfoy Sir! I is a bad house elf thinking you did not want it, oh yes, I is a disgraceful house elf!" Deely cried, hitting herself in the head as she ran to give the letter to her master.  
Draco snatched it from her hands the moment it was in his reach. He ripped open the wax seal and found the strangest and most frightening letter he had ever read.

He dashed out of the room, and came back in carrying his cloak.  
"Deely, stay." were his only words before he threw some floo powder into the fire place and shouted something, spun around and disappeared. Curious, Deely walked over to the letter that had caused her master so much distress.  
"Oh... I is a bad house elf, I should not be doing this, oh no, no, no! I do not dare look... but what if master is in trouble? I could save him! But if he wanted me to know, he would've told me, he would've. Oh I is a very very bad house elf!" she said to herself as she picked up the letter. She had a hard time reading, but she could make out what it meant close enough.

_ My Dearest Draco,_

_I write to you for the very first time with my own words. Everything you have come to know and learn is a lie. You're very existence is questionable. Draco, listen to me. You must meet me at the Malfoy Manor at the portrait of Budrake the Bloody on the third floor. Come immediately. And DO NOT tell your father. Draco this is of the utmost importance! Do not ignore this! I must go now, I hear your father coming. Don't forget where to meet me, I will explain everythi_

Deely dropped the letter, squealing with horror. She would've read on; however it was scribbled out as if she was hurrying too fast, and a long line of ink was flung to the end of the parchment as if someone had bumped her arm too hard while she was finishing the dot of her "I".

Deely immediately started bawling.  
"OH!!! DEELY IS A BAD HOUSE ELF! DEELY IS A HORRIBLE SERVANT- SHE DESERVES TO BE CLOTHED! SHE DOES, SHE DOES! SHE HAS READ A PRIVATE LETTER THAT WAS NOT MEANT FOR HER EYES!! OH!" the pathetic house elf wailed. "I AM NOT WORTHY TO SERVE MY MASTER! I IS NOT, I IS NOT, NOT, NOT!" Deely immediately lit a fire, shoving her toes deep into the scalding embers. The only things heard for miles were her screams of betrayal.

The fact that she had let down her master was the only thing worrying her. However, had she been smart enough to figure out how much danger Draco was in, she would not be sitting and crying.


	3. The Curse

**Chapter 3-The Curse**

Kay soo I like to write in many different points of view. So you'll get a couple in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters, ideas, plots, etc..

Kay. Deely read the letter and Draco left his house. Moving on.

Draco came spinning out of the fireplace, landing on the ash-laden floo platform. He ignored the flustered house elf, who immediately started brushing Draco off and called out to his mother. Remembering where his mother had told him to meet her, he rushed toward the stairs and ran taking the steps two at a time until he reached the third floor. There he took a right, passing the lavishly decorative ivory doors leading to his parent's room, the statue of his great-grandfather, and the fourth startled house elf to question his arrival. He found the area where the portrait for Budrake the Bloody should be, but it was missing. He heard something around the corner, whipped his wand out and boldly shouted, "Who's there? Show yourself!" Draco, of course, knew this sounded foolish, but being in the scare he was, couldn't care less. He heard someone sobbing. It was a frail, feminine voice, and he somehow knew who it belonged to, though was frightened to confirm his suspicions.

"Mum?" Draco called softly.  
"Draco?" the voice responded.  
"Mum, what's wrong?" Draco started to run around the corner.  
"No! Draco, just stay right where you are. I'm in a terrible state- I'd hate to have you see me like this..." As an afterthought, she seemed to add- "And I think, if I saw you now, I would be too overwhelmed." she laughed softly, irony dripping from it. "And I wouldn't be able to tell you what I need to."  
"Mother, the letter..?"  
"Yes- Draco. Listen to me carefully," Draco's mother collected herself, "That letter holds the real truth about the last seventeen years of your life. Draco, I know this will be very hard to understand, very hard. You're only a child and it, well... I'll let you see you yourself. Draco, when I first married your father, I had no idea about his past. No idea about his future- or present for that matter. I only knew what he told me. And being the fool that I was, I believed him. But that doesn't matter. About a year into our marriage, we had a son. My son was taken from me to get washed up after he was born, as is normal for a newborn child. However, my son was not given back to me. You were given to me. And I know you weren't you, I knew it, I did..." She scorned herself in those words. "But Lucius forced you upon me, and put the Imperius curse on me." She paused for a moment. "Are you following me, Draco?"  
"Continue..." Draco sounded utterly confused, but his mother expected that. She proceeded to finish her story.  
"I have almost no recollection of the last seventeen years- the seventeen years that I raised you... Draco, the point is... You are not my son. You are not Lucius' son. You are something else... and I fear telling you this but... I believe you are a creation of the Dark Lord..." He heard her wince as she said it. Narcissa feared he would not let her finish, but he did.  
"Draco, as the closest thing you have as a mother, I dearly hope you will not follow Lucius' path. I hope with every fiber in my being that you do not turn towards the Dark Arts, and I hope that you will somehow use your heritage.. a-and your name... to--" but she was not able to finish her sentence.  
Draco was reacting just as Narcissa feared. He scoffed.  
"So it finally happened. You finally cracked. You are mad. Is this some insane attempt to get back at me for being such a bratty child?"  
"Draco... you must understand... I'm telling you the truth."  
"The truth? The truth?? You think that the _truth_ is, I was created by putting a dash of newt and pinch of frog into a boiling cauldron? That's the truth, is it?"  
Narcissa's sniffles turned to sobs and she started to wail.  
"Draco, I'm fighting off the Imperius curse as we speak. I-it's very difficult. Please d-don't make me regret telling you."  
He would not believe it.

"What is this RUBBISH?! You aren't my mother?? What are you trying to do- push me out into the world with nothing but myself, hoping I'll thrive?! Well I won't take it! I won't take any of it!! YOU ARE MY MOTHER AND LUCIUS MALFOY IS MY FATHER AND I'M DAMN PROUD OF IT!!" Draco roared.  
He could hear his mother wailing, but no longer cared.  
"I WON'T STAND FOR THIS... _MOTHER_," he sneered the last word.  
"Draco, please. I look upon you as my son; I do not wish to cause you unease-" she shuddered as he started screaming again.  
"UNEASE? UNEASE? YOU THINK TELLING ME THAT MY WHOLE LIFE IS A LIE WOULD CAUSE ME UNEASE?!? HA!" he scoffed maniacally.  
And for Narcissa, that was enough.  
"DRACO!" Narcissa screeched.  
"WHAT!?" he retaliated.  
"Come here at once! Face me!" she demanded.  
As soon as he turned the corner, he heard a whisper of, "_Petrificus Totalus_" and was instantly body-bound, crashing to the floor.  
"I am still the closest thing you have to a mother and you will still respect me!" she cried.

"Now listen to me Draco," Narcissa said somewhat steadily, "It took me a lot of fighting against your father's curse to tell you this. I wanted desperately to tell you this." -she sobbed openly now- "And now, you turn against me. Draco, don't. I may be your only ally..." After a pause, she dignified herself once more, ceasing her tears. Then she un-petrified him.

He leaned up against the wall across from his mother of seventeen years. He gradually began to evaluate her poor state and weak figure. It almost scared him to see the immense change in her.  
Thin and fragile, she was messy, to say the least. Her already gaunt face had sunken in, giving her an almost skeleton-like appearance. Her arms and legs were bony and her skin had a transparent look to it. She wore a torn, gray dress that had the shadow of luxury and wealth embroidered in every stitch. Her once beautiful blonde hair was tousled and tangled, and her head lolled to her right shoulder as she grimaced in pain. She was evidently still fighting the curse.

Neither one knew how long the pause was, as he looked her over and she seemed to doze off. Her eyes suddenly popped out of their sleepy, half-open state. She was suddenly alert and started to stand up.  
"Draco! You must go!" she whispered.  
"What? Why? I want to help you! Look at you; I can't leave you with him!"  
For a moment, her eyes misted at his compassionate plea.  
"He's coming!" she hissed.  
Draco understood immediately and just barely got through the fireplace before Lucius Malfoy walked through the door.

Reverse

Narcissa felt a wave of power surge through her, though it was not her own. The curse was coming on stronger- meaning he was getting closer.  
"Draco! You must go!" she whispered. She mulled the name over in her cloudy mind again. Draco... what a lovely name... Draco, Draco, Draco. She promised herself to say it whenever possible.  
"I can't leave you with him!" was all she caught of Draco's protests.  
"_How sweet... a shame he won't be that way for long.._." she thought, and her eyes misted over at the remembrance. But now was not the time for tears- that... she would save for later.  
"He's coming!" she hissed.  
A look of comprehension dawned on her son's face as they both rushed to the nearest fireplace.

In a flurry of green, he was gone. The only boy she had even slightly looked upon as a son. He was gone. And after the story he heard, it was likely that this hurried good-bye had been their last.

"Narcissa!" Lucius called.  
"Over here." she called hoarsely back to him.  
He found her, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
"Your voice is tired. Who have you been conversing with?" he asked coolly.  
"No one." she responded easily, rolling her eyes at his accusation. She had come to be quite an accomplished liar when the need arose.  
"Do not lie, woman." he looked upon her with scorn.  
However, she had not yet been able to lie to her husband.  
"It was a Ministry wizard Lucius. But he did not do as much as step onto our threshold, I assure you."  
"Again, with the lies, dearest Cissa." he responded, half-amused. He sauntered over to her, while she stood unmoving. He walked around behind her, and she felt his breath on her neck. He trailed soft kisses up to her ear. She still did not respond. She stood still looked only forward trying to ignore his disgusting proximity to her. Disliking her lack of response, he whispered, "I fear it has become a habit, this lying. Habits are hard to break, I know." For a moment, and only for that long, Narcissa thought of how understanding he could be. And then he continued, "I'm glad. I enjoy a challenge. _CRUCIO_!" He had raised his wand up behind her back and held it there as she collapsed and blacked out almost immediately.

She woke to the smell of heavy liquor.  
"Narcissa, my darling... We shall not have you passing out before you can feel the consequences. That's hardly fair." He forced a drink down her throat.  
"Drink this."  
Too weak to resist, she swallowed compliantly.

"Very well. Now, let's try this again. _Crucio_!" he said once again.  
This time, Narcissa did not pass out. In fact, she felt so much pain, she went numb, and believed she must be dead.


	4. Cracked

**Chapter 4-Crucio**

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it.  
-----------------------------------------

Kay so when we left off, Draco has no parents and his mother thinks she's dead because Lucius is a jerk. Is that about right? I think so. Moving on.

Draco stepped out of the fireplace and into his empty mansion. Though he was no longer physically spinning, he felt as though he never stopped. He fell to the floor with a thud, his mind reeling with all the new information, and the close escape from his father.

A small house elf approached him, whimpering, "M-Master Draco?"

He didn't hear a word of what she was saying. He was focused on leaning against something, anything. In a flash of a second, however, he was focused on getting to a bathroom. He had the sudden urge to vomit all the doubts, all the questions, all the wrongs, all the falsities away. Instead, he wound up vomiting his last meal up.

"Master Draco!" cried Deely, astonished. "You're newly cleaned carpet!"

Draco almost laughed at the comment. His new floor meant nothing at all to him at the moment. He just wanted to sort it all out, to get it out of his mind, if only for a little while.

"Elf," he croaked, "Get me sleeping pills. Those nasty, muggle things. Get them, and a glass of water."

"Sleeping pills, sir?" Deely questioned. He had never asked for anything to do with muggles before.

"Do I look like I'm in any condition to be pointing a wand at myself right now? I didn't think so. Do I look like I'm in any condition to be brewing a potion? Again, I didn't think so. Get the pills. They're in the lowest kitchen cabinet. Here's the key," he said, reaching into his shirt and removing a key on a chain from beneath his shirt.

Wordless, Deely dashed from the room immediately, still crying out in pain from her personal punishment.

Draco pulled himself up from the floor slowly, earning himself a great rush of blood to his head. He was seeing fluorescent spots for a few seconds before he could see clearly. He walked cautiously to his room.

-------------------------------------------

Days flew by. Days became weeks, and Draco thoughts had not cleared up. In fact, they had merely become more confused. He sat in his bed all day, questioning his entire being, his mind becoming more and more closed. He longed to write his mum, to beg for answers, for comfort. But he knew he would not get it. He knew his mother would again be under the curse. But he did not want his mother's words anyway. He feared that she would write him and tell him it was all a joke. He also feared his father would intercept it. So he laid in bed forever, it seemed, and the questions built up. The doubts piled upon his mind like gum he could not scrape off his shoes. Finally, he decided to write. He did not know who he would write to. He did not know what he would say. But he needed to see another's words, if only to confirm that this was all real. He took out some parchment, a pen and ink. He dipped his pen in the ink, and held it above the paper. It dripped a single drop of ink on the parchment. But that was the only ink that the parchment showed. Draco had no one to write. He had no one to share his fears, thoughts, hopes, feelings with.  
"Damn it." His first words in weeks came out in a croak.

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About a month after the meeting with his mother, he received an owl.

_To Master Draco Malfoy,_

_It is my sincerest regret to inform you that Narcissa Helena Malfoy passed away on September 29 of this year. The cause of death, unfortunately, is unknown. It was written in her will_-"What will?" Draco thought-_ that she does not request a funeral. She only wishes for all of her possessions to be given to her son. Tomorrow, you will arrive at the Malfoy manor to pick up her belongings at 9:00 A.M. It will all be arranged by her husband, Mister Lucius Malfoy. Please accept my deepest condolences._

_-**Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic**_

Surprisingly to even himself, Draco did not cry. He did not care that nobody knew how his mother died. He did not wail, he did not hurt. He did not mourn, he did not feel... That's exactly it: he did not _feel_. Devoid of any emotion whatsoever, he arrived at the Malfoy Manor at 9:04 A.M. the next day, following Lucius' example of being (as the Muggle phrase goes) "fashionably late".

"Ah... Draco. So nice to see you." Lucius said forcedly, after he opened the decorative front door.

"I can't say the same for you, I'm afraid." Draco responded coldly.

"No need for animosity, my son." Lucius tutted amusedly.

Draco ignored the comment. He was not sure Lucius had found out about his and his mother's meeting.

"I'm here for my _mother's_ things." He said with difficulty. "Those of which have been passed on to me. Now, if you don't mind," Draco left the sentence unfinished and pushed past Lucius into the foyer.

Draco pulled out his wand, ready to levitate as many items as needed into his magiked packing box.

"No need, Draco. All that was left to you was a small jewelry box." Lucius laughed as Draco's face fell slightly.

Lucius pointed to the small box on the side table. It was a beautiful jewelry box, made of a deep mahogany wood, and encrusted with flawless diamonds and perfect rubies.

Draco left without a word to his scorning shadow of seventeen years, of whom he commonly reffered to as his father.

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A few days after that, Draco had still not investigated his mother's jewelery box. He decided it was too soon- that she had touched it not too long ago. Some day soon after that, he was lounging around his home as usual and had a couple of visitors. When Deely answered the door, the two men revealed were none other than Draco's old school friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Though, when they saw him, they got less than a warm welcome from Draco.

"Go away," were his exact words.

"Draco, we heard about... you know." said Crabbe discreetly.

"No. I don't know." Draco responded coldly, "Now do I need to tell your thick heads twice? Go away!"

"Draco, you look horrible." Goyle said.

Draco's gray-blue eyes flashed horribly, turning an icy glare on the pair of thugs.

"Need I speak slower?" Draco growled.

Goyle started towards the door, but Crabbe kept on persistently.

"Draco, we haven't seen you in a while, and we were sent to check up on-" he started.

However, he wasn't able to finish his sentence, for a horrible screaming filled the marble built room. The cry of anguish reverberated off the walls.

Draco had been teetering so precariously on the edge of insanity, that those few words were the last straw. Draco had cast the Crucio curse. The very curse that had been sent his way so many times had finally come from him. It was a difficult curse to cast. There had to be hatred and coming from deep within your... what? Your heart? No, to cast this, you couldn't have a heart. And now, after all the practicing, he had finally felt the hate; he had finally acted on the sadistic thoughts; he had finally wanted so badly to cast the curse that he did.

And it coursed through him. The curse, the hatred, it coursed through him, invigorating him. He felt powerful. He hadn't felt so alive since before he was branded with the Dark Mark, which was quite a long time ago. Now he wanted to cause pain. He wanted to hurt things- any things, and any people. He wanted blood. He wanted revenge.

Draco looked around the room wildly, like a savage beast that hadn't eaten in days. Goyle. His eyes rested on the gorilla-like figure, and he cast the semi-fatal curse.

Another cry of agony. Another burst of strength. Another step towards the madness of a certain Draco Malfoy.

Crabbe gasped and quickly crawled towards the door, panting in the aftermath. But Draco couldn't let him get away. He needed the power; he needed the pride. Like a drug, he cast the curse again in Crabbe's direction, enjoying the sight of Crabbe writhing beneath the pain. Draco couldn't stop. He knew Crabbe couldn't take much more, but he couldn't stop. He was addicted to the sight of pure, raw agony and could not, for the life of him, take his eyes away from it.

Goyle, being much thicker and larger in stature than Crabbe, recovered from the curse faster. He turned to Draco because having his back to him didn't seem like such a good idea, and halted all movement when he saw him. Draco, normally cool and composed, had become a monster. His white-blonde hair was completely askew and his posture was crouched and bent like a madman. His teeth were bared and his lips were curled into a snarl. But his eyes were what truly have him away for what he was at that moment. His stormy grey eyes had become frothing pools of blood. They were wide and unblinking, drinking in the cruelty that was heavy in the air. To look Draco in the eye right then would surely be a certain death.

The image Draco portrayed at that time scared Goyle almost to death. He sat there frozen for what seemed like eternity, frightened out of his mind, body, and soul. The tortured boy's screams became a lullaby that set his mind to sleep for a thousand years, it seemed. But when the screams stopped, and Draco did not, Goyle took action.

Before Draco could notice what was happening, Goyle hit him around the head with an ancient vase that had been sitting peacefully nearby, and Draco blacked out, ceasing the frenzy of curses he had been sending towards his most trusted goons.


End file.
